


Perfectly Numb

by fuckyeahlucifersupernatural



Series: 50 Shades of Samifer [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Worship, Enthusiastic Consent, Frottage, M/M, Month of Kinks, Samifer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 10:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not everyone can claim to be in a consensual relationship with the Devil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfectly Numb

**Author's Note:**

> **Kinks:** Frottage, Enthusiasm, Body Worship (tummy  & hipbones)
> 
>  
> 
> **  
> _This is for the[Month of Kinks](http://fuckyeahlucifersupernatural.tumblr.com/tagged/month+of+kinks) Event!_  
> **
> 
> **Disclaimer:** This is fan-run and this writer is not officially affiliated with the CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., and other official affiliates tied to the TV Show "Supernatural." This user does not claim ownership to the official content of Supernatural and does not seek profit off of the work produced presently. Plagiarism of this current story will not be tolerated and will be reported following AO3's terms of service. The stories, additional characters I create, are mine. This story was not created for profit. Making profit is deemed copyright infringement unless sanctioned by copyright holders (i.e. CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., etc.). Copyright infringement can range from paying a fine to actual jail time. Please do not claim this story as yours! Please do not sell this story! Please do not reproduce this story! All violators will be reported and dealt with severely! 

Sam’s sitting intently on the couch with a book opened on his lap, a precarious pile of beaten and worn tomes leaning against the couch by his feet. He’s still wearing the t-shirt he slept in with his sweatpants thrown on as a polite afterthought, tall frame sinking into the cheap couch. His fingers push back the next page and Lucifer moves forward, Sam greeting him with his eyes prying away from text and a blossoming smile. It’s contagious enough to pull his own lips into a soft smile, taking a seat beside the hunter. 

The closest arm to Lucifer moves back so it can lay over the back of the couch, opening up his side to the blond till he can feel cold weight sliding up against him. Cool fingers reach out to his neck, running across what bare flesh was exposed, Sam’s head turned to the archangel. Foreheads rest against the other, Sam’s eyes closed as he enjoys the curious touch and the nose briefly pressing against his cheek. Cold air buffets his skin until his skin becomes flushed, body trying to reheat frozen skin. 

A thumb grazes across his lips and Sam already knows that researching for today is a lost cause. He doesn’t need to open his eyes and see that studious gaze of the Devil’s that silently informs that today he will, once again, map out and memorize every inch of the Winchester. He’s reverent and gentle, nose nuzzling into his as fingers hold Sam’s chin still. Lucifer’s touch is light and airy, making Sam shift and nearly squirm in his seat as he waits patiently in his own blindness for lips to meet his. 

Cold air only tickles and teases his dried lips, frustration coaxing Sam’s mouth to part to voice it to only be instantly silenced. It’s openmouthed and eager, never bothering with light and chaste kisses that evolve over time. Those cool fingers slide from Sam’s chin back down to his chest, Sam’s hand rising to reach out, landing on Lucifer’s clothed collarbone. Sam eases his mouth away when he needs air, refilling his lungs as his eyes remained closed, feeling fingers drop down to push underneath his shirt. The muscles in his stomach flutter at the ice grazing across it, mouth moving forward to search for Lucifer’s, answered immediately with a kiss eager and becomingly impatient. 

Sam abandons the book. Can’t even find it in him to fumble blindly to fold the corner of the page he was on. He pushes it aside and it gives an angry tumble onto the floor as Sam twists so his body is turned towards the blond. They kiss until lips are swollen, Sam’s lips numb and tingling with the quiet thumping of blood pumping underneath chapped pink. 

Hazel eyes finally open to find the hooded gaze of Lucifer’s, frost colored eyes livid with pigments and nerves of color. It’s miraculous how no one else could guess there was something different with the being seated next to him. Eyes were always a dead giveaway, cut out ice that’s been neatly dissected, pupils struggling to fight against a reaching light that can burn the flesh off bones to frying the sheer bone calcium off bones, a deadly osteoporosis. Despite how expressive and well-versed the Devil may be when it comes to earthly beings and earthly events, it’s a thick comfort blanket that shrouds the very inhuman and incomprehensible nature of a being who was nearly as old as Time. Sam’s fingers reach out to trace underneath those bright eyes, feeling the small dip, watching as those blue eyes closed. Sam could feel eyelashes brush lightly across the top of his finger. Fingers drifted down to follow the rise of a cheekbone to its fall, slipping away to the hard line of a jaw, stubble scratching at the pads of his fingers. There’s something stupidly exciting about touching something that can break him down into atoms and molecules with a thought. It makes his heart beat in his throat and it feels as if he’s exploring the insides of a steel jaw-trap, waiting for those metal teeth to snap together. 

Sam’s hands move and push at Lucifer’s chest, coaxing him to lay down. There’s slight resistance, as if pride forbade the archangel to be on his back. Something that the young hunter encounters every time, already watching those shoulders roll and begin to pull back in an indigent show. Sam bribes with a kiss to his jugular, lips pressed against a still Adam’s apple. It’s taken, the archangel shifting and soon leaning back into the couch’s cushions, the back of his head resting on the armrest. 

The Winchester moves so Lucifer’s legs can stretch out as he sits on the archangel’s lap, knees digging into the cushions. The bed would be easier, giving more room, both of their tall frames overtaking the couch. Sam enjoys the constricted feeling, one knee lodged in the depth of the couch between cushions and the other pressed against Lucifer’s side or else risk meeting empty space. They were kept tangled in each other’s personal space. Leaning forward, hands moving to the armrest for support, his body makes a slow slide upward so mouths can meet. The blond’s arms move back, hands finding Sam’s forearms to hold in a loose grip, head turned upward to meet the surging kiss. 

Numb lips seem incapable of registering the warmth in the room or even the warmth of his own mouth when he licks his lips. Only the cold receptors vibrated and spoke in a series of chemicals and pulses to his brain when those frigid lips met his, leaving the skin on his lips to feel raw and exposed. 

“Good morning,” Sam finally mumbles out with a dazed smile on his lips, nose and cheeks red as if he spent the morning walking through frosty weather. 

“Morning, Sam,” comes the pleasant rumble, fingers reaching out to comb through Sam’s hair idly. “You’re doing research awfully early,” the Devil comments, Sam leaning into the fingers that are running through his hair before Sam’s resting his chin onto the blond’s chest.

“Think I’m dealing with an Aztec god... Cops get a call to this strip club, they walk in and it’s a bloody aftermath of a massacre,” Sam mumbles, closing his eyes, “And get this, all across the wall and floor they find these symbols and writing in blood. All point signs to an Aztec deity, just trying to figure out which one wants to redecorate a strip club in blood...” 

Fingers lightly scratched at the back of Sam’s scalp, a thoughtful hum leaving Lucifer. “And your brother is...playing Nancy Drew at the strip club at this moment?” 

Sam snorts and gives a semblance of a nod, not entirely sure himself where Dean was but selfishly pushing that instinctually urge to worry away for a few moments. Sam was at ease and content against the blond archangel, something that should never be a reality but yet here they were. Yet here he can’t help himself but be excited to see him today, letting his eyes shamelessly roam about. “I have time for you, though,” Sam replies idly, eyes watching those pallid eyes thicken in hue, pupil ravenous and devouring the color. Those were the right words spoken because the blond’s hips raise, urging Sam’s mouth to come closer until lips slide against each other.

 Sam’s right hand moves to grip at Lucifer’s blond locks, fisting what he could as he greedily kisses him back, a sound muffled and stuck in his throat. Lucifer swallows that sound, stealing and taking that warmth that never fails to leave Sam no matter how many times he touches and presses his cold frame against. There’s a possessive hold on him and Lucifer gives a thick, rumbling sound in pleasure at Sam’s ravenous kisses that are only repeating something that Lucifer knows oh so well: Sam is his just as he is Sam’s.   Lucifer’s hands frame Sam’s face, devouring each groan and eager sound, giving a breathless chuckle when Sam pulls back to heave loudly for air. Sam’s fingers relax their grip in his hair, an embarrassed flush rising in Sam’s neck and a stubborn huff leaving his lips when he refilled his lungs.   “Hey, some people have to breathe in this room,” Sam protests and Lucifer can only arch a brow and smirk.   The brunette gives an exasperated expression before he looks down at Lucifer’s shirt, fingers pushing it up to expose skin. He’s pale in the areas where sun doesn’t meet flesh, and Sam can see portions of the Devil’s circulatory system. He can see the winding branches of veins before it simply vanishes, the hue of skin dark enough so purple and blue are not shown. Sam wondered what it must be to be trapped in a body that paled in comparison to its own beauty. This body, here, was riddled with visual fragility. The showing of ribs, veins, how skin can be peeled back to reveal the pink furnishings of the body when too much energy is exerted... Sam wondered if it bothered the archangel deeply. If it made him his own greatest and harshest critic...  Sam liked this body that Lucifer wore, even when it bears lacerations, the Winchester found the archangel to be attractive. Sam liked the vessel that Lucifer wore and he certainly liked the archangel himself. He certainly liked this particular freckle over here...and this tiny scar over there...  Sam leans down and presses his mouth on Lucifer’s chest, feeling the archangel shift and pull off the shirt that was bunched up at his armpits. The Winchester doesn’t bother to look up, instead keeping himself occupied by pressing his lips against the expanse of skin. Quietly he makes his way down, supporting himself with his hands digging into the couch for the moment.

He kisses the softness of his belly and it’s an imprint of heat against cool skin. Fingers slide to those exposed sides to hold onto, leaving a series of kisses across the expanse of flesh before his mouth. There’s a thick sound leaving the archangel’s lips when that heated mouth grazes over his navel before a tongue is picking the same route, tasting skin. If coldness could have a taste, Lucifer was soaked in it. He tasted of cloudy mornings with the air smelling of coming rain, of fog encasing the mountains, and of falling snow that carries a bit of the atmosphere with it. It’s fresh and clean against his tongue, suddenly intent on having the taste permanent on his tongue. 

Long fingers pick and pry at the button to the Devil’s jeans, pushing it out of its slot before the sound of the zipper being pulled can be heard. Pulling the denim down, enough so his mouth can nip at the spot underneath the blond’s navel, he’s rewarded with cool fingers threading into his hair once more. They scratch at his scalp, light and lazy as blue eyes watch Sam’s mouth begin to nip at the wet portions of his belly. 

Lucifer was not made completely of hard lines. Those were reserved for the path of his jaw, the flash of teeth in a deadly smile, the slit of vibrant blue of narrowed eyes. But underneath clothing there was a softness that made Sam’s fingers roam and his mouth part to greedily attack at flesh. He’s helplessly fascinated with the frame beneath him, hotly intent on worshiping skin with his mouth, always seeming to show his affections to the blond more so in ways like these. Words could be used. They’d possibly sound more sincere and less carnal, but he’s not sure he can find the right words to express that this before him was what he wanted. He didn’t want the pressures of Fate riding on them both. He didn’t want to fret about some hunt. He didn’t want to sit around hoping for normalcy or for some miracle to give him back that cookie-cutter life with Jess. He wanted this. Sam selfishly and ardently wanted the affections and overwhelming love that Lucifer holds -- all its dangers and consequences included.   The show of ribs cannot be ignored, a testament that there is a being that is sucking the marrow out of bones and the blood out of veins, thinning the body with every exertion of power. A show that this here was an archangel who rebelled against the supposed Creator of this world. Sometimes Sam, when given the chance and privacy, would slide his hand underneath Lucifer’s shirt to drag his fingers across his sides. There he’d feel the bumps of a ribcage, a quiet reminder to his fingertips that there is something otherworldly beside him. That somehow this was his.

But this he loves. Loves spending the day letting his mouth worship skin, hazel eyes occasionally flicking up to see the subdued and pleased archangel. Nipping at his side, a chuckle rumbles in the archangels’ chest, feeling a leg shift beside Sam. He repeats the action, leaving a lingering kiss on the red marking before nuzzling his nose into winter scent flesh. Lucifer’s body is alive, legs shifting and chuckles turning into laughter, body twisting away from Sam’s mouth. 

“Are you ticklish?” Sam’s laughing in astonishment, lifting the upper half of his body up to shoot the blond a look. The blond is gracing Sam with a withering frown, tutting at the brunette as if he was a child.

“No,” he responds simply and matter-of-factly. 

Sam snorts and arches a brow, leaning forward so that his fingers could scratch and press against his sides, running across flesh and earning an unwilling spill of laughter. There’s a grumble trying to make its self known through the laughter, but it’s lost in the sound. A cool hand finds his wrist and pulls his hand away, the blond sitting up and biting Sam’s bottom lip hard in payback. 

“Ow!” Sam whines, shifting forward so he’s sitting on Lucifer’s lap. “You’re ticklish!” Sam proclaims before sucking on his bottom lip, nursing his abused lip. “Who would have thought that Satan was ticklish,” he teases, earning unhappy sounds from the blond before Sam’s wrist is freed. The Winchester loops his arms around Lucifer’s neck, giving a goofy grin.

“I forbid you to tickle me.” 

“Oh, and what happens if I do?” 

Lucifer arches a brow, shifting the position of his back so that he rose just a bit higher in posture, fingers reaching out to run across the expanse of Sam’s jaw, stubble scratching at the pad of his fingers. A cold finger presses underneath, pushing Sam’s head upward until the underside of his jaw is exposed. Lucifer’s movements are painfully slow, the brunette watching with bated breath those pools of blue stare down at his lips, until his gaze is forced upward. Cold air hits the skin where head and neck meet, feeling teeth press against his skin. “Your punishment would have to be severe,” he rumbles, voice graveled and thick with a promise that makes Sam’s breath catch in his throat. 

Sam swallows thickly, insides hot and he’s acutely aware of his own arousal that’s trapped in the confines of his sweats and underwear. All he can do is give a quiet ‘oh’ in response, flushed and suddenly flustered by the coy smirk soon in his line of vision. 

“That, however,” Lucifer continues lowly, “Will have to wait for another time...” 

Sam balks. Lucifer’s mouth splits into a cheeky grin.

“You’re an ass,” Sam huffs. 

Lucifer only shrugs his shoulders, ultimately pleased with himself, “A heavy price to pay for tickling the devil.” The hunter can decide if he wants to laugh or pout, face a deep shed of rouge at being duped. Lucifer can only chuckle and lean forward to kiss a reddened cheek. Lucifer’s idea of playfulness was the equivalent to a dog jerking a dead bird about in its mouth, something Sam wanted to heatedly point out if it wasn’t for the blond’s fingers grazing Sam’s trapped arousal. He releases a tense breath, body leaning forward as if it didn’t feel like supporting itself upright anymore.

“You’re distracting me,” Sam mumbles helplessly, feeling his hips lift up eagerly in the direction of those fingers. The Winchester can’t help but let his fingers run down Lucifer’s bare sides, and he swears he hears a ‘don’t make me bite your fingers’ when Sam’s fingers curl about those ticklish sides.

Sam snickers before it turns into a chuckle, earning a deploring look from the archangel. “You’re a brat,” the blond heaved, as if that itself may be the greatest problem he has ever faced in his entire existence. Sam laughs and grins before he’s leaning forward to press his mouth against the blond’s, feeling the Devil sink back down into the couch. Sam thinks he enjoys things like this. Moments where both are distracted from the reality of the positions they are in, briefly forgetting that one should be running from the other, and to be upset over trivial matters to only find it quickly resolved. But seeing the usually tactile and manipulative blond stretch and smile underneath him is something he will not easily forget. 

Sam’s hips forever search and urge for those fingers, instead opting for the devil’s lap when those fingers elude him. “Luce,” Sam rushes out as he arches his back, pressing his clothed hips eagerly into the body before him. He’s eager to feel skin against skin and the fabric of his sweats and underwear is beginning to prove a heavy restriction, the sensation of feeling smothered or trapped making him antsy and sloppy. Sam doesn’t want to go through the tedious motions of taking his clothes off. He wants them gone now, not wanting to stop that fluid movement of his hips rubbing against Lucifer and his stomach. “Can’t you just...” he begins through laborious breathing, “Snap them off?” 

Sam is witness to Lucifer’s pink lips sliding into a cool and collected smile, his head tilting to the left. “Wouldn’t _that_ be easy,” the Devil replies and Sam gives a dismayed and bewildered sound. 

Sam gingerly parts away and gets to his feet, shooting Lucifer a menacing look as he shoves his sweatpants down. Pulling his shirt over his head, revealing the back of his hair and odd-end strands of hair sticking up, Lucifer’s smile evolved into a grin. “Whose the brat again?” Sam asks and the blond simply stretches on the couch and takes his time slipping out of his jeans and underwear. The brunette looks exasperated and frustrated when he can’t kick his boxer briefs off his ankle, grumbling indigently when he hears the archangel chuckle softly. Turning to Lucifer to give a snappy rebuttal to the chuckle, instead he finds a finger curling and beckoning him to move forward. 

Sam keeps still for seconds in a sign of defiance before he’s shuffling forward, curious and wary until he watches Lucifer lean forward to kiss at his left jutting hipbone. It’s awful how easily lulled and subdued he can be with Lucifer. But Sam is, holding his breath and moving a hand onto Lucifer’s shoulder for support, his other hand unsure of what to hold onto or do. Lips run across the dip and sharp grooves of the hunter’s hips, feeling bone pull skin until its taut. It’s a cream-hued canvas meant for his teeth and Lucifer does not hesitate to sink his teeth into Sam’s right hipbone, earning a hiss and tightening of grip on his shoulder. Pulling back, the archangel admires the ring of teeth indents, kissing each groove made from white teeth until skin lightens in its angry shade of red. 

A cool finger moves to trace Sam’s hipbones, carefully avoiding Sam’s arousal when he moves onto the other hipbone. Bowing forward to suck on one, Sam gives a half-formed groan as his hips shift, earning frost-kissed fingers sliding back to grip possessively at his backside. The hunter finds himself pulled onto Lucifer’s lap, adjusting himself so he sat comfortably on the icy being, already feeling his skin break out into goosebumps at the temperature difference against his thighs. 

The Winchester’s arms wrap around Lucifer’s neck, earning a kiss on his jaw at the action. Shifting closer, Sam rolls his hips before picking up a hasty tempo, head bowing down to watch his hips rub and slide against the archangel. Lucifer’s fingers continue digging into his backside, giving a sharp nip at Sam’s neck when he moves too fast, the archangel immediately demanding control. Sam fights off the urge to writhe and growl heatedly at the request, but he finds his pace slowed down until there is an easy rhythm in the way he rocks against the archangel. It’s a maddening ache that only seems to ache more with each fluid and lackadaisical rut of the hips.

Sam lets his forehead rest against Lucifer’s, following the painfully slow pace willingly now, watching his arousal slide against Lucifer’s. His cheeks feel flushed and head light, unable to stop the yearning sounds that leave his chapped lips. It’s magnetism how mouths search for the other, Sam finding that arctic mouth pressed against his, hands cupping his cheeks. Those cool hands are a balm to his flushed skin, letting the archangel lead the kiss until he’s heady, Lucifer moving his mouth off of his so Sam can suck in the air around him. Hot air rushing into his now-cold mouth makes a shiver twist about his skeletal system, toes curling. 

Sam can only lean back in for another kiss, never tiring of the action and if anything, he enjoyed it more than the sex. There was something personal always shared, a sort of trust and comfort that came with each kiss. It always feels possessive and permanent, undyingly loyal and satisfied whether it is a peck on the cheek to something more. When a cool hand wraps around them both, grip firm and steady, he nearly smacks his nose against Lucifer’s at the sudden temperature change and pressure surrounding him. 

There’s an insistent rise of Lucifer’s lips, Sam understanding and picking up his pace. Rutting his hips eagerly against the blond, feeling those cool fingers against heated skin, he felt his eyes close as a throaty sound left him. Sam can feel a mouth against his jugular and the low groans that press into his skin, making his pace become erratic and jerky. The hunter can’t remember when Lucifer’s spare hand left his face, only aware that it’s leaving bruises on his left hipbone, imprints of fingers bound to be left with that of teeth from before. 

A strangled noise leaves Sam, hips stuttering as he feels himself ride out his orgasm, clutching onto the blond. Teeth are biting into his neck and that cool hand wrapped about them both begins to pump vigorously, a wet moan rushing out of Sam’s mouth as he hits his peak. The Winchester’s body trembles with exertion and the aftershocks of pleasure, feeling a mouth suck at the teeth mark on his neck soothingly. Cracking his eyes open, he blinked with a lazy sort of pride at the archangel before him. A sigh of content leaves him, watching Lucifer pull his mouth away from Sam’s neck to look up at him. 

“You need to shower,” Lucifer explains, those clever blue eyes watching him. “I strongly advise it.”

Sam gives a disbelieving chuckle and tosses an abandoned t-shirt stuck in the confines of the couch at the blond’s smug face. “God, you’re so romantic,” Sam complains openly as he slides off of Lucifer, stretching his sore limbs, listening to his back pop. “Come on, you need one, too.” Lucifer only gives an easy grin as he pulls the shirt off, rising to his feet to join the expectant Winchester. A softened smile can only slip on Sam’s lips when he feels fingers tangle into his and a kiss press into his shoulder blade. 

The nerves on Sam's shoulder blade became perfectly numb and Sam, well he was perfectly content.

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


End file.
